Hello Creative Parent readers! It’s springtime here in the southern hemisphere, and it’s just the best. Waking up from a sleepy winter. To simply be and enjoy the warmth on your skin and the newly bloomed flowers – gosh, I feel like I need it. We had a sunny weekend camping last weekend and celebrating our eldest niece's 18th birthday, which seems huge – I can’t believe my brother-in-law and his wife have an 18-year-old. It’s so surreal, and she’s such a testament to their parenting skills as she’s a beautiful and inspiring 18-year-old at the start of her journey into womanhood. She’s about to go travelling, and it’s bringing back so many emotions from when I first set off and how fresh the world seemed back then.
In other news, I was heartbroken to hear Jane Goodall passed away this morning. One of my favourite quotes from her is: “It actually doesn’t take much to be considered a difficult woman. That’s why there are so many of us.” She proves that even at 91, you can still give a fuck.
Which leads me to my new Creative Parent of the week: Hayley Millar Baker. Who actually inspires me so much in her unflinching calling out of all the bullshit. Especially as a First Nation artist. Especially as a mother artist. Especially as a woman artist. We need more of voices like her’s. Hayley’s honesty and her art is so needed here. I'm so over listening to men who have no idea. The news is saturated with these types who ok murder and oppression and misinformation in the blink of an eye.
I know from conversations with Hayley that she's been asked to conform to the ideals of art curators and galleries. And she won't. I respect her so much for that. Likewise, she speaks up for artist mothers. We have a place here. All while reminding us of our place in this one singular moment in time. The 65,000 years of First Nation culture still alive and thriving (despite everything that it's gone through!!). It’s a grateful reminder what looking after each other and the environment can look like if we just care. Essential reminders of Jane Goodall, too! This interview is as refreshing as a spring time dip in the creek — enjoy readers!!
Here is the Q&A of Hayley Millar Baker, contemporary artist and mother of two:
Can you tell us about your art & design practice — what do you create, with what, and why?
I consider myself a fine artist. Since there are many ways to define oneself as an artist, I find that using the term ‘fine art’ helps me clarify my goals and interests — specifically, where I want my work to be exhibited and understood. For me, fine art involves work created with an intellectual purpose within a certain framework, intended for display in galleries or museums. I know that sounds a bit lofty, but whatever — I’ll own it. I’ve always been obsessed with those spaces. I grew up thinking galleries were places where everything and everyone on the walls held the same value. Which is funny because, clearly, that’s not the case at all. Maybe on the surface, but no, not really. Still, that idea stuck with me, and it shaped how I saw art and where I wanted to put mine.
I’ve created a lot of things, and they’ve faced some significant changes in a relatively short period. I started as a painter, then moved into photography because I wanted something that felt more ‘real’. After that, I shifted into film to expand my storytelling, and at the same time, I sidestepped over into video to strip the storytelling work with the rawness of the conceptual.
I differentiate between my film and video work. My films are more narrative-driven and sit within a cinematic setting. My videos focus more on presence — they hold space, explore duration, performance, and being. Photography remains part of my practice, but it has taken a step back now that I am focusing on moving image work. When I started working with film, I truly felt the emotional distance between what photography was capable of and what it wasn’t. That said, my final photographic series from 2024, In Life, In Death, really resonated with me. It achieved what I had been aiming for in photography. Now, I’m reflecting on that and wondering... what’s next?
And after all that, I’ve realised I’ve never actually explained why I create. Well, here it is: I create because I’m an artist, and I can’t not create.
How did you get here?
With luck, determination, and a bit of manifesting, my life’s dream as a child. Honestly, I have a lot of faith in myself. I believe in what I have to say, what I create, and that I deserve to take up space as an Aboriginal person. But I do have a killer case of imposter syndrome. I think it just comes hand-in-hand with being a humble person and coming from a very humbling upbringing.
What inspires your work?
There’s a lot that fuels me creatively, things that move me, provoke me, or keep me going, but they don’t directly inspire the work I make. Inspiration feels more like a constellation of influences or informative moments than a single spark. Some things shape my thinking, others shape the way I navigate my practice, and some just keep me close to the emotional core of making.
I’ve been drawn to the Renaissance period over the last few years since spending time in Italy. There is a kind of emotional gravity in Italian Renaissance work, a weight that is felt, not just seen. What I love is how that intensity is held within tragic circumstances, even in something seemingly soft and graceful. The balance between emotional depth and formal softness has remained with me as a general guide for creating and thinking.
There are many artists I admire for their presence as artists and their artistic presence. Artists whose physicality and presence in their work are so powerful but unpretentious, such as Daniel Boyd, D Harding, Ana Mendieta, Sandra Mujinga, Louise Bourgeois, Madalena Abakanowicz, John Gerrard, and Mrinalini Mukherjee. I don’t necessarily practice like them, but I feel in tandem with their intention, their scale, their physicality, or their refusal to be something they’re not.
Outside of visual art, cinema plays a huge role for me, especially films that deeply and intentionally honour storytelling, particularly in the character study and horror genres, headed by non-White directors and writers.
What have been some of the highlights of your career, and what do you have coming up? Do you have a favourite project?
Honestly, my whole career feels like a highlight. I often forget where I am or what I’ve achieved. I’m one of those people who kind of go on autopilot during the big moments. I’m not a social person or someone who thrives on attention; my career has always been about the work, not me (probably why I struggled to find any photos of myself working in front of the camera for this blog).
If I had to pick a favourite project so far, it would be my 2024 photographic series, In Life, In Death. That work felt like the culmination of many ideas and emotions I’d been carrying for some time, and it raised new questions for me about where to go next. It’s been out in the world for a while now, but I don’t think it’s had its moment yet. When I made it, it represented certain things, and as time passes, it brings forward new representations. When I made it though, the world wasn’t ready for it. The artist statement contained writing on the traumatic experience of watching a live-streamed genocide as an Indigenous person. Two years on, it continues, but the colonial powers that be also continue. When the time comes and people are ready to arrive at the truth, a truth that reveals how trauma lives within our souls, all the way back to our ancestors, I believe it will have its moment. That said, right now, for me, these photographs speak to life after the failed referendum, the rise of the Neo-Nazi’s in so-called Australia, the Victorian Treaty work, the Yoorook Justice Commission, and my ancestors cheering us all on while carrying the sadness of their lives.
Who is in your family and their ages?
I have two children, Maeve, aged 7 and Quinn, aged 5, and my husband of nearly 10 years. Next year, both kids will be at school, so I’ll have five days a week free between 9 am and 3 pm- well, technically, it’s 9.30 am to 2.30 pm. What will I do with all that extra time? Who knows! I’ll probably go a bit crazy after spending the last eight years sharing my time almost entirely with my babies.
Where are you based, and why did you choose this area?
I’m based on Bunurong Country, in the outer Western Suburbs of Melbourne. My husband and I both grew up here, our parents live here, and when we had kids, we wanted to buy a house. Being able to afford a multi-bedroom house with a backyard meant moving back to our hometown.
I have mixed feelings, even after being here for five years. I don’t love how far it is from the city, but I also don’t love how suburban it is. I find myself thinking I want to head further out into the bush, but the inconvenience of driving distance into the city for work? No thanks.
Has becoming a parent changed your practice?
Yes, absolutely. My days revolve around the kids’ schedules, and I organise my practice around what’s happening with them. It means being flexible and sometimes working in bursts when I can, rather than having long, uninterrupted stretches where I would work through the entire day before realising the day was over. Becoming a parent has changed not just my routine but also how I think about presence and patience in my practice. I’m always tired, so I want to create nourishing work. I also don’t like being away from my family, so whenever I can, I bring them along to work.
What does your day-to-day look like, and how has this changed from previously?
My mornings begin with waking up at the crack of dawn, with the kids sneaking into my bed and being noisy little troublemakers, all the while I’m trying to sleep just a bit longer. Then I find myself begging them to get out of bed, so we aren’t late for school and kindergarten drop-off. If I need to head into the city for work, I have to leave early so I can be back in time for pickups. If that’s not possible, my mum and dad step in to lend a hand, but I’m usually home not long after the school bell rings. It’s really important to me not to be missing when it comes to my kids. Not just for their sake, but because coming home to them after a big day or week is a medicine for my soul.
Do you have any advice for creative parents?
Honestly, I don’t have anything really worthwhile to say. Just wing it. None of us really knows what we’re doing or whether we’ve found the right balance. Do what works.
What are your thoughts on the approach of the arts industry to parents? Have you found support or a lack of it?
I get support from the people who love me and who I love back. They’re my people. The arts industry overall? Absolutely not. But the industry is made up of many, many individuals, and I’ve found there are a lot of bloody good ones in there who aren’t ignorant of the work of artist parents.
Do you have a mantra/ quote that keeps you going?
My mantra lately is “it’s alright.” When I’m stressed, I whisper it to myself. The one I grew up with, which was relentlessly drilled into my brain by my Nan, is “just do it” and “that’s life”. She obviously stole one of those from Nike, but she uses them interchangeably to say, “get over it and get on with it.” Classic Blak Nan’s tough love, who had no choice in her own life but to get over it and get on with it.